Across the Line
by timelucked
Summary: Inspiration drawn from Linkin Park song. The Turks need backup and it's up to Zack Fair's SOLDIER cell to save them. But with his own team felled, how will Zack manage to go up against this Experiment 409? Can this behemoth be destroyed? Or will he be?


As first-rank SOLDIER, Zack Fair was the newly appointed leader to a special division cell inside the Shinra Corporation. His fellow unit members trusted him explicitly, even through his obnoxiously-seeming disposition and he earned that trust through much hard work and valor. No matter the cost, Fair would always mete out just punishment and help a friend in need; whether on the maelstrom of battle or in times of loss, he was there.

The four troops stood before him in crisp Shinra Co. uniforms, eager eyes mirroring his own clear blue ones. His eyes shone with a mixture of fierce adrenaline, excited jitters, and pride; brilliant as he poised himself before his men. The oddly illuminating shade of his piercing eyes came from mako-infusion – a procedure ranked SOLDIER's endured. A dunk in a tank, then bam – enhanced capabilities. His once cobalt flared to a bright azure and it was these eyes that held a promising talent for prime leadership.

He looked upon the gathered men – his men – as comrades in arms. Brothers to a cause. Friends who held the future of a company, and each others lives, in their calloused hands.

"My friends," he boomed, displaying his wide shoulders in a sweep of his hand. He gave a brief smile as he stared down, chuckling under his breath as he readied his next words. "It seems we have been dispatched to help out the Turks. They botched _their_ assignment and need _us_ to right things."

The men broke out into loud guffaws and chortles. 

"So the mighty Turks need help from the sullied SOLDIERS's, eh?" one man barked in mockery.

"Useless. The whole lot of 'em, save for some good laughing fodder for the _real_ men of Shinra!" another added, an accent coating his words thickly.

"Men. I know. We should let 'em rot." He broke protocol and reverted to speaking unathoritatively and in his usual, joking manner. He became stone-faced once more. "But we will go and help – if only to show who should really be on top in this organization." The captain turned on his clipped heel, scuffing the linoleum flooring with his steel-toed combat boot. "So, men," he smiled a devil's grin where no one could see. "Who's with me?"

Shouts and cheers sprang off the glass doors and walls of the mission room. When all had quieted down, his hands motioning for the lot to settled themselves, he briefed them on the detail then dismissed each with a flippant hand, met by renewed whoops of elation. They scatted to attain their proper equipment and neccassary weaponry for the job out of their air-sealed lockers. Steam let out as the joints on the doors pumped back to reveal their effects.

A mild beeping rang out clearly. Picking up sternly, the division leader answered. "Zack here."

A angelic voice called from the other end of the line, brightening his stoic features instantaneously.

"_Heeeellooooooo!_" Aerith Gainsborough sang in her usual greeting. "…Zack, are you frowning?" As he opened his mouth to answer, she pressed on without missing a beat. "I swear, ever since you took this officer position you've been so serious lately!" He could _feel _the cute pout he was sure puckered her full lips through the telephone as he continued to listen, hand coming to rest at his hip. "What happened to my Zack-y?"

"He's still here," he rumbled low, in the way he knew she liked. _(Your voice…talk to me… I, I like hearing your voice. Just…yes, like that._) "And I always will be."

She smiled and twirled her braided hair. His words and voice did wonders to comfort her – and so much more.

"Well… as long as you say so… so!" she piped up. "What are you up to right now, Mr. Fair?"

"Looks like Tseng fuc—_screwed_ up," he quickly caught and corrected himself. He knew the virtuous church restorer hated 'foul' language. "a mission. We're going to retrieve them and the target."

"Ooooh," she gnawed, worrying her bottom lip. "Be safe… and be careful!"

"Babe." He reassured, shaking his head with silent laughter. "We always are."

Zack's whole demeanor changed whenever he was around Aerith. A light in him lit up and he was true to himself. How a pure, sweet angel like her could be as in love with a trained mercenary as much as he was with her was baffling to him.

"Okay…" she sounded unconvinced, but he could do little to help that. In his line of profession, it was do-or-die and in most cases, with most people, they managed the latter far more frequently. But Zack Fair wasn't like most. He had a goal. A purpose. A reason.

Her.

"Sir." Zack focused his attention to the newly risen third-rank that called to him, cupping his gloved hand over the receiver. "The troops are ready."

They were a small force – but an effective one.

"Thank you, Strife." He gave a nod, dismissing the man who promptly stalked off to clip his sword on the latch at his back as he walked out the doors. They hissed as his approach signaled their automatic opening. "Listen, baby, I gotta go but I love you."

"Go kick some ass!" she gasped as soon as the words spilled from her bubbly lips, and he heard a clap. Suspiciously close to the sound a hand makes when it connects with the flesh around a mouth in embarrassment.

He ended the call with throaty laughter, resounding off the titanium walls and glass doors. Grabbing from the wall his enormous halberd, the object of envy for many, he shouted, "Move out!" clipping the Buster Sword in its rightful place.

-x-

_In this desert, in darkness; lying with the gun across his chest. _

"Collins! Collins!" Zack's voice screamed as he tried to find his unit mate. His subordinate had rushed the target – the idiot – a behemoth that size – and to just charge it! The sinking feeling in his gut told him Wilford Collins was no longer with him. He cursed under a breath, a nasty expletive suited for this time, raising his P-90 Rauing to his chest, ready. The beast shrieked like the torn metal between its talons, the remains of a car or tanker.

The _target_ was a loosed experiment No. 409, a behemoth of immeasurable size, strength, and fury. Already it had rent apart streets with its giant fists, chewed whole sections clean from towering buildings, nearly toppling the architecture. It had brutally maimed seven guards and three Turks had been rushed out of the scene. The scars and disfigurements would stay with them the rest of their lives – a reminder to someone else's incompetence and self-heroism. Just like Collins.

Snatching his phone, he dispatched his signal to the remaining men.

"Vega! Harrison! Strife!" he bellowed, eyes taking in the entire layout before him with expert analysis. "All unit members report to spots B, D, and H – you know where they are."

"Sir!" they all called out in unison.

He heard the marching of footsteps as they took to their positions, sloshing through puddles of He only knows what. It was best to retain what little sanity battlements left them by not thinking too deeply or allowing recognition to flit through the mind.

"F-F-Fair," a meek whisper, carried off by the wind.

Zack stared down, all hard looks, trying to locate the source of the rasp. What once was a strong, solid, and morbidly handsome man laid tattered, crisp suit soiled with a dark brown as the blood already began to congeal. Blood dribbled out of his mouth in a sputtering stream. The SOLDIER knelt down beside him.

"Oh, Tseng,"

The man took heaving breaths that intermingled with pained moans, those he could force out. As Zack stood to go, a should-be feeble hand held his uniform in death's vice-like grip.

"Go," blood spewed from his swollen and cracked lips. "Go… kick some ass."

Anger at the beast that had done this to a friend bubbled and roiled within him. It frothed like foam at the edge of a rabid cur's mouth. He contained a roar, locked it behind gritted teeth and crushed eyes. The hand on his vest fell away, leaving the spot it clutched deformed and damp. It appeared darker than the rest of his attire even in the dim and flickering light a lone street lamp provided.

In his minds eye, he had seen himself charging, halberd drawn, screaming in the name of his fallen comrade.

But as a leader, his men counted on him to conduct a proper seizure. So standing up with a sobered heart, he watched his ally convulse, leaving him to whatever fate's design had in store for the Turk. This was a battle; there was no time for rudimentary action, let alone grief. The only token Zack left was a heavy-handed toss of his last remaining Potion, an odd sort of elixir that glowed and sparkled as teal as his eyes.

He collected himself before storming off to his assigned placement, the pre-battle plans drawn and laid out before his unseeing eye. He pressed his worn back against the wreckage that once was a statue, a dedication to an historic figure that no longer bore a face but a torn chunk, and clutched his blade to his chest.

_Pretending, he's heartless, as the fire flashes in the sky._

The subject was a man. Once. But the Shinra Corporation changed that, had done awful things to it. Him. Mako-infusion taken to far, studies pushed far past human limits and into the realm of monster and demons. Inducing the reflexes in the neuro-system to a comatose state, the company immobilized it – _him_ – for experimentation. Morphing living men with the monsters that overflowed the lower districts – it was blasphemous. Making them like some sort of hybrid dogs for Shinra's use. He was a human – a man just like Zack – but he broke from his cage and this monstrous form of a beast was attacking the precious lives of innocent civilians in Zack's city. And that just wouldn't do. Zack had to put it down, and with the help of his, now, three-man cell, he knew he could do it.

He glanced back, checking, searching for movement. He saw none. Not even the twitch of Tseng's body. He wasn't sure if it was due to lack of flailing from less stress, or whether death had descended upon his friend. But he had no time to think on the matter. Hardening his heart as much as he was able, Zack focused his attention back to the pressing issue on hand. This was an enemy he could tackle. Not just a figment. Real, tough flesh that at any moment, he and his team could slice through.

He surveyed the area with roving eyes for possible escape routes and offensive strategies he could implement should his original plan fail. Fail safes. Always good. Never bad. Nope. Never.

_Focus._ He commanded his wanton mind, just as jumpy and restless as his eyes.

He knew that around the bend was a pipe large enough for two to chute through into the sewer. It was messy, but it was an easy evacuation, and speed was the necessity for the moment.

Fire blasted the smell of burnt flesh as horrible shrieks rent the skies. Harrison, a trained fighter with enough energy to produce screaming fire balls dropped out of sigh as 409 blindly threw a car roof in his vicinity. The bank took the brunt of the blow, but chunks of cement flew in all directions. It nailed Harrison in the leg, pinning him down, shin bone bursting through the patella at an odd angle. He screeched, tears streaming down his blotchy and dirtied mug, voice carrying the melody of excruciating pain. The sobs ended abruptly as an enormous mass fell on top of the man. Seamus was gone now too. Looking away in disgust, Zack hissed as a pang bolted through his metaphysical heart. Out the corner of his eye, he saw someone taking it much worse.

He could see from his peripherals the jittery, quivering mass that was Strife. Not the pretentious noun that followed Zack wherever he went, but the man. The person. The boy stared wide-eyed in horror at the scene. The monster still raged, throwing its hulking arms up like a zombiefied gorilla. It yelled its fury to the sky as a storm of gray brewed above its massive head. Lightning cracked the dull skies and thunder chased after it a moment later. Zack, as captain, took note of everything and saw that the boy was about ready to go on a suicide blitz. He was proven right; the young SOLDIER recruit bolted with a strangled cry, eyes large like that of a madman. He didn't even have his weapon at his disposal.

"CLOUD!" Zack's larger figure barreled into the boys to shield him, the behemoth rearing its head around at the ruckus. He rolled with Cloud pinned to him back behind his post. "What the _fuck _are you – what were you – you could have gotten yourself -!" His fury mounted but as he stared down at the young man, with his blond hair caked in mud and other fluid, eyes crazed and brimming, he only had a strong wave of empathy to share with him. "You are worth something, Strife. You are worth a lot to this group. Don't take that away from us right now."

Cloud Strife, ensign turned SOLDIER, nodded shakily eyes lighting as he came back to himself. His senses were on full alert, ears picking up the slightest sounds. Another cry. Clumsily picking his way to the beast, a Turk by the name of Reno, ran forward with his electrically-charged cattle-prod poised for the striking before him. His close partner Rude grappled for a piece of him to pull him but his waving grasp descended and caught nothing in its midst.

"YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!" He charged forward, jabbing his prod into the deep, bulbous folds of the experiments flesh.

The monster roared and thrashed, cement blocks jumping from the ground in its wrath. He knocked the fiery red-head aside, as easy a task as swatting a fly. Reno flew, careening into his comrade and both were kicked into a wall. A crater was formed by the crashing of a towering skyscraper as it hit the ground where the two were not but a second before. With strained and knitted muscles, they picked themselves up and prepared for the onslaught that was sure to come. Zack patched in to his receiver.

"Alright, here's the plan, guys." His throat hitched. "His guys were dwindling in number count fast. _Harrison, Collins…_ "We rush the fucker. That's right - on all sides. Looks like our Turk Brothers are taking the front. Vega, you get left, Strife you're on the right, and I'm positioned at its rear." He gave a laughless chuckle. Dry like the tears that would not come, forced too deep down in a dark place he never wanted to tap into. "No crude jokes, boys."

Dropping his phone into his pants pocket, he called to his team, noticing the building tension in the Turks' muscles. "Ready…"

His last front armed themselves properly this time.

"Now!" He bellowed, eyes squinting from the force of his shout as he saw Rude and Reno leap in unison. His men flew into action, and Zack got his running start, jumping off an uplifted section of road and unslinging his Buster Sword. He drew it high above his head to slice from behind his back.

_He was fragile, and frozen, but the bullet took away his friend; and now he's somehow more broken._

They were all down. Rude, underestimating jumped right into the jagged, spiked rows of teeth. The gargled cry caught Reno off guard and he too was felled by a ragged paw smacking him and cutting ribbons with his flesh and sinews. Both lay in a puddle of self-deprecation and blood, internal organs splayed out, twitching like mad. Like Tseng. If there had been any time, Zack would have doctored the wounds; cork the bleeding in the least.

Strife went down easily. He got slammed by a huge claw as Reno had. He was out cold and Zack only prayed that he was just unconscious from his head smashing against the pavement. Vega had been torn asunder by the beast's giant talons. His ribs looked pale and ghostly against the red rivulets the spewed from the cavern of his split sternum.

Heaving great breaths, he steadied himself before it. There was a large gash where the top corner of his forehead was split. The blood from his wound seeped into his eye, coloring his vision in a crimson haze. The menace roared and shook great fists before pounding them to the ground; pummeling the earth like Zack's teammates. He gave a jump at the unnatural quake. Zack gripped his handle, leather gloves rubbing against the worn hide of his swords hilt and gave way with a sigh. 409 charged headfirst at him, Zack rolled on his shoulder to escape the brunt of the attack. Like a bull, it charged forward and Zack managed to fling himself out of the way in time. He flipped and tumbled, motions stunted by a bag of immovable flesh, death rendering the sack motionless. It was Vega. The empty, lifeless look in his eye more unsettling than anything he had seen. He began to hyperventilate uncontrollably, tremors raking his body.

"Ah – ah – Argh!" He flailed away—

- Right into the raging path of the monster. It stomped and rolled him under his razored paw. He turned and coughed up blood, resting on a quivering forearm to retch. More blood. He had internal hemorrhaging; vessels had probably burst inside of him. He spat, teeth a snarling and bloody mess, the pearly white washed away by crimson stains. Slowly, he stood, using his halberd for support. His glower was lost on the monster, but it did sense the looming threat that he imposed. Zack could feel his spirit fracturing, eyesight splintering the reality from the ludicrous. But in this world, in this city, with this corporation, the two coincided regularly. Insanity would take him by the time this battle was through, it was the one thing Zack was certain of. But he wouldn't go down without a fight, and if he was going, that fucker was too.

If he hurried, the medics could salvage what life remained of his cell and the Turks.

_Tseng…_

With grim determination, Zack gripped his steel friend and ran headlong into the treacherous maw of uncertainty.

_He's pulling his weapon to his side,_

_Loading it full of his goodbyes,_

_Holding an enemy Across the Line._

_He's pulling his weapon to his side,_

_Loading it full of his goodbyes,_

_Holding an enemy Across the Line._


End file.
